


Visiting the Pumpkin Patch

by pumpkinbasket



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: Frogs, Gen, Post-Over the Garden Wall, Pottsfield, The Unknown (Over the Garden Wall), a good amount of dirt, bluebirds, frogs just being frogs, that's basically it pretty much, they're going on a walk!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinbasket/pseuds/pumpkinbasket
Summary: Of course they still cared for each other, just in a more, expressive? Kind of way.And that's how they left, onwards towards the Pottsville thanksgiving celebration, unknown of the mysteries that were about to unfold before themGreg, his slimy frog companion, Wirt and his (crush) Sara and Beatrice take a walk through the Unknown.
Relationships: Beatrice/Wirt (Over the Garden Wall), classic pining, frogs and their love for all things good, not super mentioned, wirts just got a crush ooohhh
Kudos: 9





	Visiting the Pumpkin Patch

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this three years ago during class and school assembly, makes me a little nostalgic for absolutely nothing in particular. I intended back then to write a little series for this but I've moved on (maybe, most likely.) I like the dialogue, and although this might not be the best I reckon it's kinda fun like Rawnald Gregory Erickson the Second, great song you should listen to it (-: weird title I KNOW super weird kinda funky though in a good way. Should I mention that I didn't proof read this because I wrote this three years ago and I don't feel like changing my mistakes? Cool, cool.

Wirt had never felt more at home in the Unknown with the accompanying, browning maple leaves crunching beneath his mismatched grey shoes. The air had a familiar tinge to it, a warm and spicy although somewhat cool fragrance misted throughout the breeze that had once carried him and his younger brother through these paths not so long ago.

With every crunch of the leaves brought out new smells of the earth that misted the air of its autumn aroma. The dirt beneath his shoes was slightly damp, as it clung to the soles of his boots and got stuck within the ridges of the rubber that protected the ends of his shoes. It had rained only lightly the day before so it was of course, expected.

The rain had seemed to bring out the scent of the mud and soil, as Wirt found himself to be rubbing the end of his nose with the corners of his long draping cape. His nose always ran whenever he walked outside in the cool breeze for a while, perhaps the rain had just enhanced it? Whatever the reason he kept trekking onwards until-

"Hey! Greg take that out of your mouth!" He yelled frustratingly to his brother, who seemed to be mid-way in placing several colourful small rocks into the depths of his mouth.

Opening his mouth Greg slowly spat out a wad of stones covered in endless amounts of saliva and drool, the brightly coloured pebbles all fell in unison before assembling into a small pile in the dirt, Wirt swore he could see one of the blue shiny ones move. Not even far from the pile he could see a small excavation in the soil, there was absolutely no doubt that Greg had dug them out from the grimy confines of the earth.

Jason Funderburker croaked as he hopped away from slimy, and seemingly moving? Rock pile. Jumping he landed into the comfortable crook of his little and childish brother as he finished wiping his mouth and face free of the remaining dirt, grass, and saliva.

It had only been the first few weeks of autumn, not cold enough to wear a coat but not warm enough to wear shorter clothing without feeling the cold crisp air along your skin. Wirt preferably always liked to wear longer clothing so it didn't bother him too much, he liked the cold, it was calm and cool and everything had a homey feeling attached to it like his mother's handmade needle threaded embroidery.

Pulling his cape up from a nearby suspecting puddle of thick clayish mud and wrapping it around his arm a few times, he glanced over at the rock pile that his little brother spat out not so long again, confused he counted them all until he saw a few of them move.

Grimacing he realized that his brother had not in fact attempted in swallowing pebbles but in fact had tried to eat a few shiny beetles instead. Shivering from not only disgust but from the cold as well he thought that at least his brother had taken the safer route this time, swallowing a handful of rocks would've put his life in more jeopardy then eating a small amount of crawling and hopefully harmless insects.

Sighing he turned his back a little to the side so that he'd have access to his big bulky backpack. Sara had recommended in bringing his hiker backpack so that they could pack something to eat and drink and perhaps other requirements if needed, of course Sara was also carrying a one as well but she had only filled her bag with journals, loose sheets of paper, a few chewed up ballpoint pens and a handful of useless snapped pencils. The unorganisation that Sara committed in her room and everywhere else in her life baffled Wirt beyond comprehension.

Reaching his arm uncomfortably behind his back, so that he could open his bag up with the minimal amount of effort required, he shrieked when he felt an unfamiliar presence come and snatch his bag away from the tight grips of his hands and the clasp of his back.

Grumbling he turned around to meet a sly grinning Beatrice from the corner of his eye, glancing in her blue frilly dressed direction he turned around until he was completely facing her. Great, first bugs and now this? Wow he might as well just bury himself and join the pumpkin cult at Pottsfield already.

With a dramatic twirl of his cape, and an unenthusiastic sigh Wirt grumbled out a melancholy "why are you looking through my bag?" With various over exaggerated and somehow? Quite poetic hand movements to a still sly looking, Beatrice.

"I'm real hungry Wirt and all you have in your bag is shoe polish" an unenthusiastic frown followed as grabby hands wreaked havoc without the contents of a well-loved, and fraying backpack, which seemed to be just as loose as Beatrice's knitted brows. "Your bag is as good as cold tea."

With the roll of a pair of apathetic eyes, and a twirl of red Wirt muttered a, "and what's so good about cold tea?" A raise of an eyebrow and pinching fingers on the bridge of his nose really said a sentence of their own.

"Ppphf, nothing? C'com is 10 jars of shoe polish really necessary? Who packed your bag? The shoe polish boy from Mary Poppins?"

Snickering commenced in the nearby distance. Birds echoed in the faraway hills, leaves rattled against the support of their branches, and clouds gathered along the cooling tides of autumn. Heavy and grey, moving slowly as if they were being pulled along gradually towards the next evenings rainfall, or perhaps todays.

Laughter rumbled deep from Sara's stomach, feeling betrayed Wirt began to explain a painfully long reason as to why Mary Poppins is an absolute classic and how cold tea is definitely not at all or in any form the slightest bit distasteful.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, with a not-so pleasant sigh of annoyance, Wirt grumbled out once more "Mary Poppins is a classic" with a point of his finger towards his seemingly snickering friend, he continued. "And yes, 10 jars of shoe polish is absolutely necessary, my great pop once told me that you can always judge a man by his shoes"

Snickering an enthused Beatrice prodded a "That's so stupid shoes don't represent your personality." Tilting her head and making a dumb Wirt impression she continued, before resting her hands to her hips.

"well they do represent how one carries themselves" pointing towards his shoes in direction, and scampering haste-fully out of the way from a seemingly sinking mud puddle, Wirt continued on with a clearing of his throat. "That's why I always make sure to regularly clean my shoes towards the end of the day, and to keep many spares of shoe polish, you never know when you need shoe polish."

"Yeah and you never know when you need spare food for a long journey" with a sarcastic readjustment of a not-so-messy-but-could-be-worse-messy-bun Beatrice took a deep breath, before pushing back any stray fly always that escaped from the home behind her ears. "Plus what's that load of nonsense supposed to mean anyways" looking quite disinterested, she trekked onwards, not wanting to provoke another long tedious literacy, or poetry lesson. Because believe her, one to many was quite objectively one to many.

Bickering was common among the two, considering that they both saved each other's hides not so long ago, Greg had considered the thought of a possible more, toned down and calmer relationship. Although, an overly dramatic, literacy bassoon playing student did not match the enthusiasm that Beatrice did not quite share for poetry.

Of course they still cared for each other, just in a more, expressive? Kind of way.

The tell-tale hopping alarmed Wirt more than it should have, considering that he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings and more on a poem that could perfectly sum up his wise grand pop's words of great wisdom, of course also, always accompanied with shift movements and rhythm.

With a splash of mud and childish laugher a cheeky Greg found himself with a very much not-in-a-good-mood of a Wirt.

"Ooohhhh what do my shoes mean?"

With a short prying glance to a pair of dirty mud riddled once black but now stained brown from mud school shoes, Wirt laughed a "it means you need to clean your shoes"

A mixture of not getting the joke and a not finding it funny Greg grumbled a melancholy "ppphf that's boring!" Before going on to continue playing a new made up game with his frog called 'mud hopscotch.'

"Come on guys, let's leave Wirt and his dumb shoe polish alone we have a town to get to."

"You know sometimes Beatrice, I wish you were still a bluebird."

And that's how they left, onwards towards the Pottsville thanksgiving celebration, unknown of the mysteries that were about to unfold before them.

**Author's Note:**

> That's all (-:


End file.
